


Unpath'd waters, undream'd shores

by Petra



Category: Promethean Age Series - Elizabeth Bear
Genre: Canadian Shack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kit and Will in a Canadian Shack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unpath'd waters, undream'd shores

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Giglet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giglet/gifts).



"And this, too, is a part of thy queen's land?" Will asked, looking out over the frigid landscape. "It does not seem like the province of any Summer Court."

Kit had no sense of wrongness, as he sometimes did when he was too far from the Mebd or Morgan. "They are names, little more," he said, and did not try to explain beyond that. Will knew as well as any man the power of a name, that no Romeo would truly be the same were he by some printer's error become Shylock, but the power of names in Faerie was another layer beyond that. Kit had not yet learned all of the rules himself, and he did not pretend to counsel Will when he knew naught.

"But thou'rt safe here," Will said, and met Kit's eyes with concern that touched Kit's heart, inasmuch as he still had any such organ.

He knew he did in the purely physical sense, for it fluttered in his chest. "Yes, and so art thou, for as long as wilt stay with me." His claims were not as strong as those of the mortal world. He thought of Will leaving, going back to the constant flow of days that wore him down and pulled at him, turning his grace toward palsy and his clever tongue toward an ancient's maunderings. Kit wanted to lock the door of the tiny house the Queen had granted them for the evening and hold Will there for the rest of time.

He would not, could not stay, and no amount of suasion could soothe him in such straits. But for a night, a week, Kit could hold Will's hand between his own and ease the trembling of his fingers.

Though it was quicker to heat his fingers in the heat of Kit's mouth, and sweeter, too, with a hint of the rich wool that lined his gloves. "Couldst warm the whole of winter with thy tongue," Will said, and Kit heard the rhythm of it and wondered what character would speak so. The groundlings would howl at them, and the nobles smile, seeming above such base jests but pleased by them.

"Shall I fetch an icicle and make an attempt at it?" Kit asked, flicking at the pad of Will's thumb.

"I've one for thee that requires no fetching," and they smiled at one another, but Will seemed too far off, in need of a fetch of his own, something to draw him back to the moment and hold him tight.

"Then I shall warm thee as best I may." The words went from a tease to truth with the barest unlacing, for it was too chill in the little hut to do more than was needed for the press of flesh on flesh.

Poetry aside, Kit did not have the strength to warm a winter, but he could ease the tension in Will's face simply enough, by the fondest, lewdest tricks he knew, till Will lost his words and spent.


End file.
